


New Work By Anonymous

by aliitvodeson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Jim being Jim, John gets fanfiction, Light Bondage, M/M, Stalking, Threats, creepiness, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliitvodeson/pseuds/aliitvodeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's always enjoyed the things people post online. The artwork, the stories, hell there's even music! Sure, some of it's creepy and a lot of it's totally impossible, but still. Fans will be fans and John Watson certainly isn't one to tell them to stop.<br/>And then there's this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Diamond In The Rough

**Author's Note:**

> My gift to Sheniru for the Johniarty Secret Santa exchange. Enjoy!

_A single threat from the ex-military doctor was all it took. "Drop your weapons." His voice was not raised in a yell, nor did it carry all of the emotions associated with leveling a pistol at a man's forehead. "Or I shoot your boss." He wasn't speaking to the man whose eyes were just beneath the barrel of his gun, but to the group of hirelings further off. At the threat, promise?, they stepped back, hands going up, knives clattering to the concrete floor._

_John Watson smiled. Another London street gang taken care of._

John frowned at his computer screen. The story wasn't exactly incorrect, but it wasn't exactly truthful either. The anonymous user of the forum had posted it two days ago, and John had finally gotten around to reading the latest addition to his growing collection of stories about...him.

Apparently, it was called fanfiction. Properly, what he was reading was a real-person fic, something based off of real people instead of fictional characters. It was all a little extraordinary. People, writing stories about him, and Sherlock, and their cases.

This particular piece, titled 'A Rough Diamond', was based of the case they'd finished two weeks ago. John had to admit, the narration had a dramatic flare to it.

He opened up a reply tab. *Love the story. Bit too focused on John for my tastes, but hey, still a brilliant piece. Hope to see more works from you.* He kept it anonymous. It wasn't like these people would believe him if he signed it as himself anyways. He'd encountered half a dozen John Watson's and Sherlock Holmes's since Mike had brought him to the site. There was even a henrybaskerholmes user who published, of all things, stories of Sherlock in various compromising positions with Greg. Slash fics, apparently.

"The internet gets weirder and weirder each day." He said to the approaching footsteps from the stairs.

Sherlock entered the room without knocking. Usual."Reading that dreadful fanfiction again?"

John spun his chair around, kicking away from the desk. "It's not that bad, Sherlock. You should try reading it next time you feel like shooting the wall."

"I read that stuff, and I will shoot the wall."

John laughed. "What's happening outside? I heard the sirens, but nobody came in."

Sherlock scoffed and fluttered his hand at the window as he sat down on John's bed and lay down across the pillows. "Some robbery at the cafe. Nothing they need me for apparently."

There was a banging from downstairs, the slightly dull sound of a series of sharp knocks being muffled through the floor. Sherlock sat up with a grin. "They've changed their minds. Maybe Sally's not as stupid as I thought." He was out the bedroom door in a blur of motion, leaving John to untangle himself from the laptop cord around his feet and hop after him. "Ah, good, Lestrade. At last, a sensible police officer knows that he needs me. Tell me, who found the body first? You or Donavon?"

John sighed, already foreseeing how this evening was going to go.


	2. Army Doctor At Large

_The back room smelled like rotten tomatoes, an impression reinforced by the red staining the otherwise perfectly white tiles. John held his stomach though, the bile forced back down by force of will and nothing else. One of the police officers who had accompanied them this far ran out, his face green._

_Lestrade and Sherlock were talking in the back corner, something about the body being related to the robbery. John wasn't listening to them._

_He was focused on the corpse. A young women, barely eighteen by the look of it. He pressed his fingers to her neck. He knew that there wasn't much point in checking for a pulse this long after the murder, but he had to be sure._

John stared at the laptop screen, finger hovering over the keys. A case free hour, he'd planned on reading his emails and then writing up the latest cases for the blog. Only he'd been distracted by updates of fanfictions he'd deemed good enough to follow. This one, Army Doctor At Large, was a sequel to "A Rough Diamond". Contains only true events. Or so the author claimed.

People actually believed that. Even with what John posted on the blog and the press releases from the police, some members of his online "fandom" were more willing to believe a well written of fiction over the official reports. Sherlock was right. People were crazy.

"That's weird. I only posted it," he looked up at the clock, "two hours ago. How did they get it done so fast?"

"Writers." He shook his head woefully and logged out of the site. Then he corrected himself. "Fans."


	3. Into The Deep

_His skin glistened in the sun. Like an ancient Roman warrior, he clambered over the rocks and dove in the water. His strokes were long and sure, muscles pulling him through the murky waters with careless ease. He barely paused a moment before diving down, eyes wide open and peering in the underwater neverworld._

_He pushed himself until he thought his lungs might burst. No, he couldn't give up. But if he stayed down here any longer, he would be the one needing rescue. So with equal strength, he turned and kicked up towards the glimmer of sunlight breaking through the water._

_He gasped his breath, blond hair falling in front of his eyes, obscuring the police boat as it approached. He filled his lungs in three quick, deep breaths. And then he was sinking again, diving deeper and quicker._

_A shape rose out of the water. A tumble of brown hair gently moving with the currents. A girl's small hand, pink skirt ballooning as the river's water filled it._

_He grabbed her arm, kicking for the surface without checking her breathing. She was dead weight in his arms, pulling him downwards. He kicked viciously, holding her against his chest with one arm as the other pulled for the surface, muscles straining and tendons standing out._

_He thought he wouldn't make it. The light that turned the water from dark blue to a pale shimmer didn't seem to be getting any closer. His lungs were burning, vision blurring. Black spots danced between him and the surface..._

_Just as the spots started to blend into a large black blob in his sight, he broke through the surface. He gasped, lungs hauling air in like never before._

_But the girl's weight in his arms would not let him think only of breathing. Even back on the surface with strength returned to his limbs, he still had trouble keeping her and himself afloat._

_Someone called his name. He turned, pumping his legs like pistons to hold his head above the surface. He shifted his grip on the girl so her head was flopping across his shoulder. No sign of breath. He needed to get her ashore-_

_The police boat! Just a few feet away now, he could see the ladder that had been dropped into the water. He struck out, backwards, leaning the girl against. "Come on, come on." He muttered, to her rather than himself. "Make it, make it."_

_Someone, Sally he later learned, helped get him onto the low deck of the boat. They tried to pull him away, but his hands were already on the girl's chest. Up, down. Up, down. One two three four five..._

_He counted. And counted. He opened her mouth and breathed for her. More compressions. Another breath. Compressions._

_The battle had been lost. His mind started to crumble. Even as his shoulder continued to move up and down, pushing his arms into her chest, he had mentally given up. She'd been under to long. Even a god couldn't save her at this-_

_Water gushed out of her mouth and then she was gasping, pulling air under her own power. He sat back, a pleased but exhausted smiled on his lips._

John looked at the black and white text on the screen. He didn't even bother logging out this time, just closed the window and shut the screen.

These were getting weird.

 


	4. Change Of Pace, Change Of Man

_John's hair was getting long. Long enough to curl fingers in, to grip and use as leverage to pull the man close. It was still that fine, sandy blond, still curled slightly at the ends, dancing like gold in the sun. The man himself had lost the tan that had once so defined his status. The time in London, outside of the bright desert sun and heat, had washed the brown tint out of his skin. Beautiful eyes still struck all they looked at to the core, like the glint off of diamonds the two stoney hearts of Jo-_

He slammed the screen shut, heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was the same author. The user who'd written the first, actually fairly decent, fanfiction was now posting /this/. The stories hardly focused on the cases any more. The narrator was more concerned with John himself.

He was getting seriously creeped out.

And Sherlock, Sherlock the bastard, had laughed it off. Had said John was the target of nothing more than "the sexualized object of the ignorant masses affections". He consider going to Greg. But what would the police say? There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the stories, no threats or promises to John himself.

Everything was online too. He couldn't bring anonymous up in court. He'd be laughed out of the courthouse.

He was just over-reacting, that was it. He just needed to step back think things through rationally. He would stop reading the series, blacklist the thread and that would be it. He could go back to writing his cases and living as normal a life as could be expected with a consulting detective as a flatmate.

Everything would be fine.

 


	5. The Monster At The End Of The Fanfiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference in the title? What reference in the title? I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing to see here.

_“Heel boy.” John’s hands were slammed against the headboard with mad force. “Now,” Jim lick a long stripe up the army doctor’s chest, from his navel to his bullet scar. “Where do we start?”_

_John pushed up against the man pressing down on him, trying to get his legs back under him so he could shove away from the be- He frozen at the hardness he found there._

_A dangerous smile grew on the hovering face of the madman above him. “Figured it out yet, Johnny?”_

_John tasted bile in his mouth._

_“Now then.” Cool hands ran over his sides, touch with a gentleness that seemed almost foreign given the man straddling him. “How about a kiss to get us going?”_

_John didn’t remember how he’d gotten into this situation. His mind was slow. He couldn’t tell if it was drugs or shock; either one was a perfectly good explanation for why he couldn’t damn think straight. Couldn’t muster up the air in his lungs to yell for help. Couldn’t get enough control over his muscles to push Jim off of him and run away from the bed. He couldn’t even get his gun from where it sat on the bedside table._

_What he did remember was sitting at his desk when there was a timid knock on the bedroom door frame. He had looked up, expecting to see Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson or even Greg. He had never thought to expect something else, that it would be an enemy and not a friend knocking so carefully. The black hair, dark eyes and trim suit._

_And now he was being pressed down into his own mattress, hands tracing patterns over his chest as the tattered remains of his jumper hung low around his arms. The knife that had been used to cut apart the fabric was resting on the pillow, the man who’d wielded it held John’s wrists in a one-handed grip against the wooden frame of the bed._

_“I’ll going to let go of you now, Johnny. Need both hands for a proper fucking, and I don’t trust you not to grab me once we actually get going. Now,” Jim’s eyes hovered half a foot away from John’s, pupils swollen and iris dark. “If you scream or try to get away, I make no promises that your landlady with get a marked grave. Accidents happen.”_

_He seemed to be waiting for a response. John’s mouth was dry as he lowered his chin. Defeat._

_“Good boy.”_

_There was a gentle pat on his cheek, then the pressure let up on his wrists. For a moment, he considered breaking away, damn it all! Then Jim’s touch was back, wrapping something smooth around his wrists. John angled his eyes up to see a trail of fabric being wrapped around his wrists. Jim glanced down and caught his gaze. “Just in case.” And then he fucking winked._

_John started struggling against when Jim made a motion towards his belt. “No. Don’t.”_

_An icy chill came over him when the smile dropped away from Jim’s pale lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Johnny boy. Oh, I like that. Suits you. Johnny boy, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny boy.”_

_“Don’t touch me there.”_

_Jim pouted. “Just a peak? I promise to not hurt you.” And then that fire was back, that cold fire that bloomed Jim’s dark eyes. The fire that John had seen at the pool, the leaping flames of desire and madness. “If you shut up now and behave that is.” He didn’t even give John a chance to respond, just reached up and drove the knife into John’s shoulder, the mirror to where the bullet had entered so long ago. John hadn’t even seen him pick up the blade._

_He screamed and screamed, writhing in his bonds. Then suddenly he didn’t have air left in his lungs to scream with. There was a hot pressure on his mouth, a finger laid across his nostrils. “There, there, Johnny. Didn’t anyone ever tell you? Good pets should be seen and not heard.”_

_Black spots were dancing in front of his vision when the hand was removed. “Now then. Can you keep yourself silent, or do I have to gag you?”_

_A moment in which John struggled to get his breathing under control and Moriarty didn’t say or do anything._

_“Well, I can see that’s not going to happen. And honestly, I’d rather not hear your begging voice or cries for pity. It’s so mundane, really. I don’t understand why Sherlock lets you talk. Your body is far more interesting.” John felt Jim’s weight shift, moving off him and then returning. “Luckily, I came prepared.” Jim dangled the black strap over John’s head like a treat for a dog. “Ever used a ball gag before, Johnny? Never mind, I can see you haven’t.”_

_John whimpered and tried to turn his face away, his mind too scrambled by the pain to make any coherent words._

_“Relax. Everything will be just fine.”_

 

John was pulled out of his horror filled reading by a strange sound. The hollow noise of knuckles against wood. He looked up from the laptop, eyes widening and hands coming up defensively. “You...”

“Hello, John.”

“Did you like my story?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my muse for finding the strangest path up this mountain ever. Like, I really mean it. The prompt (at least to me) was straightforward. And then this creepy fuckery happened.  
> I had a string of apologies to make for this. And then I went back and reread the whole thing. Now all I can say is, "Jim made me do it".


End file.
